


Son of the Mourning

by Amorfati32



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Character Death, F/M, Heavy Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-21 12:58:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14285424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amorfati32/pseuds/Amorfati32
Summary: A story of loss, grieving and trying to carry on.





	Son of the Mourning

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: Major character death
> 
> What if Mulder and Scully's second child together was a boy? What if Chris Carter continued with Scully's comparisons with Saint Rachel?

He is a father. He has a son. He has a second son that is; a healthy, beautiful little boy who’s sleeping upstairs in the maternity ward to allow Mulder some time to himself. A bouncing baby boy, all eight pounds four ounces of him, light coloring and already a dusting of what he’d initially hoped was red hair. He has a healthy baby boy and today should be one of the happiest days of his life. He should feel over the moon.

But he’s doesn’t.

Instead he feels…numb, in a dreamlike state of disbelief. Any moment now he’ll wake up and discover the past twelve hours have been a dream. A nightmare to be exact. But that’s yet to happen. He’s been pinching himself for hours now, digging his pains into his skin to see if he can rouse himself from sleep. It turns out he’s awake. He feels like he’s been given the gift of his dreams, only to have it cruelly snatched away at the last minute and be left with just some gift wrap. Beautiful gift wrap yes, but Mulder is greedy, he wants the whole damn package. That’s not possible though.

Because Scully is dead.

He says it to himself as he sits by what until just a few hours before had been Scully’s hospital bed. He repeats it, wondering how long it will take before it sinks in. Something tells him it will never sink in. Earlier that evening Scully had sat in this very bed, squeezing his hand tightly as she battled through her contractions during what was to be a long and difficult birth, panting and breathing and nodding as he told her she was doing well, that she was going to be just fine. If only he knew.

They’d moved her to the delivery room when she was fully dilated, kept her there as she pushed, breathed and pushed again, until finally their son took his first breath and uttered his first cry. Mulder had been there to cut the baby’s cord, choking back tears as he transferred his son safely into Scully’s outstretched arms. He’d watched as she’d held their son for the first time, peppered his head with kisses, counted his fingers and toes through her happy, happy tears, and tested the baby’s name on her lips. It was to be the first and the last time she said his name.

Mulder was busy snapping pictures, capturing images of mother and son when Scully’s pain returned, and medical staff prepared to deliver the placenta. He watched as his son was taken away to be weighed, measured and cleaned up, before his attention was brought back to his partner as she suddenly squeezed his hand, her face deathly pale, her eyes wide and fearful. “ Mulder,” she’d whispered. “Mulder, I don’t …I don’t…”

They were to be her last words. By the time Mulder truly processed what was happening, Scully had collapsed onto the bed, the medical team rushing to her side. She was losing a lot of blood, they’d told Mulder, who stood, dumbstruck, as he watched his partner slowly slip away despite the best efforts of the doctors. When they had wanted to pronounce her, he’d insisted they keep trying, and they did for a while, until everyone in the room knew their efforts were futile. Scully was dead. Their newborn baby boy and their teenage son sitting upstairs in the waiting room had lost their mother. Mulder had lost his everything. A postpartum hemorrhage was the likeliest cause, given the amount of blood, he’s been told, but he doesn’t want to know how it happened. All he wants is for Scully to wake up.

He knows the medical team are eager to have Scully’s room back, prepare it for the next expectant mother, who’ll be able to nurse her child, care for it, leave hospital fit and healthy and not in a coffin. But right now he can’t bring himself to leave. Scully’s belongings are still here, her scent still covers the sheets. Maybe if he waits here, she will walk into the room, break out into her infectious giggle, and announce that she had him “big time.” He’d stay here forever if there’s even the slightest chance of that happening.

Just a short while ago a young nurse had entered the room, asking him if he wanted her to bring the baby to him, but he’d declined. He can’t think about the baby right now, about how he’s now solely responsible for a newborn and effectively responsible for Scully’s death. All he can think about is the gaping hole in his heart, the huge void now in his life. He’d once tried to live without Scully a few years back when he was battling he dark demon of depression. Back then he’d barely coped with her gone just a matter of months. He knows he won’t last without her now.

“Mulder?”

Snapping out of his haze, Mulder hastily turns in his chair, his heart pounding as he expects to see his partner in the doorway. But his hopes soon fade and his eyes soon cloud with tears as he instead spots Jackson standing in front of him, a look of concern etched on his young face. “ Mulder? What’s going on? Where’s Dana?”

Mulder wants to shout, to cry, to scream, but right now his doesn’t know how to. He wants to yell at Jackson to get out and leave him alone with his grief, or better yet get up from his chair, run out of the building and pump a few bullets into his own head for good measure.

But he knows he can’t.

He owes it to his son. His two sons.

Because he is their father.

And their mother is dead.


End file.
